Soul of Cinder
by Lady of Dov
Summary: Once, Adelaide believed heroes existed. A half-century later, she is an angry, embittered, and pessimistic Altmer woman who has just discovered she must be the hero of Tamriel.


_When this fan fiction doesn't deviate from the original plot altogether, it will be a more expansive and "hard-core" rewrite. You'll see a little of what I mean with the surprises I have in store for the next few chapters. Skyrim is no longer as you've known it. I didn't want this story to be stopped by flashbacks giving you back stories or inform you about certain details that the characters themselves aren't even aware of. Writing a story like that can make things not look so original, which has been one of my worries. So please give me some of your trust with this fic. All is not what it seems in this first chapter._

_Inspirational songs have been "Best of You" by _Foo Fighters _and "Follow Me" by _Breaking Benjamin.

* * *

"So... You all were soldiers, then?" Onmund hesitantly asked.

"Aye. Stormcloaks," the large Nord man replied, a certain despondency to his tone.

Onmund waited a few more moments before he found the courage to speak again.

He cleared his throat, then quietly, "H- how-"

"An ambush." The older man spoke this time in a sharper tone, indicating his desire for the conversation to end.

"I- I'm sorry. I was just..." Onmund let his sentence go unfinished, simply too miserable and uncomfortable to try any longer.

He had been attempting to start a conversation with the only other available person sharing his wagon. Just something to maybe help ease the feeling of defeat weighing him down. The Nord was one of three people within a shoddy wagon somewhere in a long line of shoddy wagons transporting scores of men to some unknown destination. It wasn't completely unknown. Where ever it was he was being taken, Onmund knew that it was foolish to think he'd be allowed to return to his former life... Well, what little was left of it.

Onmund looked up from his feet to observe the faces of the men surrounding him. If they were anything like him, they hadn't slept much last night. And that was what the case seemed to be. But Onmund knew that there was more to their blank faces and empty stares than to think exhaustion was solely at the heart of it. It was still early in the morning; so early that there was just enough light in that indigo sky for him to make out the expressionless faces of the other men.

His pa would have had him and his brothers up by now.

"Uh... Sorry... About that." the other Nord man started uneasily, pulling Onmund out of his thoughts. "I hadn't meant to be- this, this just wasn't how I had expected things to end."

The man placed his head in his bound hands.

"It's alright," Onmund all but mumbled, "I... understand."

The two went on quietly avoiding each other's gazes like they had been all along until Onmund finally spoke up again, mumbling.

"Onmund... That's my name."

The older man looked up to meet the gaze of the one sitting across from him.

"Ralof." He tried to smile. Things were once again quiet afterwards until Ralof broke the silence as the wagon slowly pulled through a sharp curve.

"Well, Onmund, I know that you weren't a Stromcloak soldier. How is it that you wound up an Imperial captive, then?"

Onmund thought it over quickly and decided to hide certain aspects of his background, lest he desired to face whatever lay ahead of him alone.

"I was a fugitive from... I had done something pretty bad in an Imperial hold... Murdered a Thalmor agent."

Ralof eyes lit up, the first time any pair had done so in hours. "Why in Nirn would you do something like that? Don't get me wrong; anyone who kills one of those slimy elf bastards is a hero to all Tamriel. I just don't get what would have had to've been going through your head. You couldn't have just thought you could get away with it, could you? By Talos, those scum are making off with more of our Nord brothers and sisters everyday! No civilian is safe, Imperial or Stormcloak." he ended sourly.

Onmund smiled bitterly and looked down, taking a moment before answering.

"I didn't- think that I could get away with it, but I tried... It doesn't matter any more. Things didn't work out for me and I don't really...I don't really want to talk about it right now."

"I understand, brother-Nord. At least you had your chance to flee- which is more than what most can ever hope for when facing the Thalmor."

Onmund's face twisted sorrowfully and turned his head away from Ralof.

"I just wish... I just wish it didn't end like this." Onmund lifted his bound wrists. "This isn't justice."

Ralof chuckled darkly, "Unfortunately, it does for you and I."

Their conversation was stopped when the voice of an Imperial officer rang out, commanding the line to stop.

"Just put the damn hag there and be done with it!" Another shouted, pointing at the mens' wagon. "I've had enough of her antics today and I'd sooner die before I have to put up with it any longer!"

"Aye, sir!"

"But watch yourself, lad. This is a tricky one."

"And a biter."

"It seems we'll be having another fellow enemy to our enemies joining our cart." Ralof said lowly to Onmund. The two watched as an unbelievably tall woman, veiled by a burlap sack pulled over her head, was placed onto their wagon.

Once she was forced into her seat, the Imperial soldier who had guided her removed the sack and returned to his position along the line. Neither man had paid true attention to her height and gold tinted hands before, obvious signs of her race, and so were taken by surprise to find their latest addition was an Altmer.

Her skin glistened somewhat as if she had recently been in a fight and strands of her hair suck out around her head from where they had been caught in the burlap sack. But those weren't the things about her that were striking to Onmund.

Her jaw line was abnormally wide and unpointed for a High Elf. It was a similar story for the rest of her features; her cheeks too low and undefined, forehead too stout, chin just a touch too broad and short, and skin so scarcely saturated gold that it was the color of the palest, sun-dried wheat. Hell, if it weren't for her gold skin, pointed ears, and freakishly tall frame, she'd have almost passed for a human. Almost. Onmund had only ever seen a few dozen or so Altmer in his life time- all while at the College and they had either been a student, professor, or Thalmor agent. All had looked young- at least by his standards. This elf though, was considerably aged, having wrinkles and greying hair. She appeared to be about five decades old by human standards.

She glanced around at the others with a look in her eyes that was not firey but rather a discrete smolder. Like she was challenging them to test her patience. It reminded Onmund of his father, who had always seemed to be in a mood.

"How you all doing?" She asked, her tone mockingly dead-pan. She was one of those women who had a voice that was of a lower variety and slightly roughened or graveled. The kind of voice you would expect out of a human woman around the age she appeared to be. It was unaccented, something Onmund had also never witnessed beforehand with an Altmer.

The large man sitting to the left of Onmund exhaled loudly and tensed. All Onmund could tell about the man was that he was nobility by his attire. The entire ride he had done nothing more than stare off angrily into the distance while making no effort at all to acknowledge the other two men he sat near. Now, he had turned his head fully away from the new occupant, his eyes wide with an anger fresh and intense. Still, he was not going to give the Altmer the satisfaction of acknowledging it.

Ralof sneered, "We would be doing better if you bile-skins finally got your pompous asses out of our country and stuck those ugly noses back where they belonged!"

This drew affirmational cheers from other captive soldiers in ear's reach of the exchange. All of them were veiwing the interaction with interest while sending looks of hatred at the Altmer who rolled her eyes as Ralof continued.

"It was your slimy tongue which alerted the Imperial Legion to our position, besides!"

This time the noises Ralof drew were full of vengeance and wrath.

The elf did not seem at all fazed by the number of enraged men she was surrounded by.  
"Pipe-down, buttercups." She said, her nonchalant yet mocking tone not catching once. Onmund wondered if she truely wasn't afraid. It really seemed as though she wasn't. How did she manage that?

She went on, "If I was the one that dimed-out your little after-morning bear-scout club, do you think that I would be in this wagon, on queue to execution, like you and your buddies?"

"And you should be the first to die, you filthy bigot!"

"Way- wait! Now hold up just a second! The legionnaires are transporting us to a chopping block?!" Onmund cried.

"A gallows, most like." Ralof answered solemnly.

"But I had thought-"

"Thought what?" the elf asked, sardonically. "Where did you think we were going, dumb-fuck? The nearest pub?"

Onmund had been thinking that he was being taken to a labor camp- or at best, a prison. He even had let himself dream he might be offered a trial at some point. But execution? That was something that had not occured to him in the slightest...

"Watch yourself, piss-flesh." Ralof smirked menacingly. "That lad killed one of your Thalmor brothers. I bet you wish you could do something about that!" He barked a laugh.

"Only if he didn't make sure he suffered." the Altmer muttered.

She set her elbows on her knees and fiddled with a silver coin in her fingers.

"Your hands!" Onmund exclaimed.

"Why are they not bound? Explain that to me, Thalmor bastard!" Ralof demanded.

"They were bound, just like yours. Only then I got out of them. Obviously."

Ralof snorted.

"Quiet back there!" The coachman called.

"Oh, blow it out your ass!" The elf quipped.

The Altmer swung her head around to face Ralof again, "And by the way; I'm not a Thalmor bastard. I'm a Deist bastard."

"It makes no difference to me what titles you use. Every one of you is the same."

The elf remained silent as the wagon finally passed through the lowered gate of the mysterious legion fort that awaited the execution of the captives.

"Nobody start not unloading captives until all wagons have finally stopped and checked in!" A legionnaire shouted. "Form them into a line and send them... " As the legionnaire went on shouting instructions, Ralof spoke quietly to Onmund. He didn't look despondant, as he had earlier, nor afraid, as Onmund felt. Instead, Ralof looked solemn and earnest. A man wishing to share his final thoughts.

"I had always prayed it wouldn't end this way... When you're a soldier... you- you pray that if you don't live, you die in battle... a sword in hand and courage in your heart. Not in captivity... Just to bring that last honor to your family and your name. There's little honor in being cut down without crossing swords with a worthy adversary... But either way, it's Sovengrad that awaits Nords like you and me. And that's all that matters in the end, I suppose."

Onmund couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard the Altmer woman mutter under her breath something like, "_Pfft! All it ever was about..._"

* * *

_Just to clear a few things up: the Altmer is the kind of deist who believes in the Divines, just that they have abandoned mortal-kind, more or less. She also isn't a snobby raicist. She's one of those types who is always in a bad mood. And she treats everyone equally, no matter their race: which is like crap. _

_Thanks for reading and __**please review!**_


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